Running
by techyeon
Summary: An insight into some of House and Wilson’s most important moments together. Friendship piece, which is now finally complete. Enjoy!
1. ONE YEAR BI

**RUNNING**

_By seriously-homie7_

**Synopsis-** An insight into some of House and Wilson's most important moments together. Friendship – NO slash.

**Author's Note-** This came to me while I'm in the middle of working on another, longer fanfic, and brooding on a sequel to 'The Truth About ESPN'... (insert more comments that plug my other stories here)…

I LOVE the House/Wilson friendship; some of the best ever scenes in the show are these two! Thought I'd try to touch on different scenes through their friendship using a common element.

PLEASE review… constructive reviews welcome… good ones are too. Maybe even more so… (Everyone needs an ego stroke every now and then).

**Disclaimer-** Sometimes I believe it's mine… and then I wake up and remember it belongs to David Shore and Fox and all those other people. Sigh.

**PS- **This was written with the idea that House first got a job at PPTH in the Nephrology Dept, then was promoted to Head of Nephrology before his infarction. Then, in my timeline, he went back to work but his job was given to someone else, so Cuddy gave Dept of Diagnostics especially to him, to keep him employed and to shut him up.

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**KEY**:

**BI – **Before Infarction

**I – **The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

**AI – **After Infarction

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**ONE YEAR BI **

James Wilson groaned as he rolled over, trying to block out the insistent knocking on his front door. His wife, Susan, growled.

"Your turn," she grumbled, refusing to get up.

James wrenched himself out of bed and staggered to the door. Who the hell would come over at six a.m. on a—

He yanked open the door, and there stood Gregory House, decked out in full running gear.

"Ah… wha… huh?" James babbled, blinking in the early morning sunlight.

"Wanna come for a run?" Greg asked, grinning.

"Wha… House, c'mon! You know Saturdays are my only opportunity to sleep in!"

His friend shrugged and held up a paper bag. "I bring gifts… well, they're more like bribes, but still…"

James stared at the bag. "You brought doughnuts?" He could feel his mouth starting to water.

"Only if you run. That's the deal. We run, then we completely undermine all the exercise we just did and eat doughnuts." He opened the bag, floating it under James' nose, the tantalizing smell of warm sweet-bread permeating the air.

It only took James a second to decide.

"Okay. I'll be right out."

Greg smiled satisfactorily and headed back to his car to wait. "Okay."

---------------

"Way-way-wait… you play lacrosse?" James puffed incredulously. "You continue to amaze me."

"Yeah, I play. What's wrong with it?" Greg asked defensively.

"Nothing. Except I don't even know what it is! I thought you were a baseball fan?"

They followed a bend on the park's path and James glanced at his friend, who shrugged.

"I like all sports. Baseball, football, lacrosse—"

"Lawn bowls, cheerleading," he teased.

They stopped at a bench and James bent over, resting his palms on his knees while Greg flopped on the bench.

"Yeah, those, too. You should see my pom-poms, they kick ass."

"No thanks. You've seen one pair of pom-poms, you've seen 'em all." James grinned and lowered himself down next to the older man.

"So," House started, an inquisitive look on his face. "How're things with Susan?"

Wilson groaned. "Not so good. She wasn't very impressed that it was you knocking on our door so early."

"She's not that hard to unimpress," House commented. He slung his arm over the back of the bench and stared at the sky. "She doesn't like me."

"Do you blame her?"

"She doesn't understand me."

"Not many people do." He paused. "How's Stacy?" He watched closely as a grin came over his friend's face, completely transforming him. He tried hard not to grin himself; seeing House smile made him feel good. It happened so rarely.

House stretched and confessed, "It's great.

"How long have you two been together now?"

"Longer than you and Susan."

"And you're still not married."

"Nope." He seemed proud.

A pretty young blonde clad in not much at all jogged past them. both pairs of eyes followed her until she disappeared from sight.

"You going to?"

"What? Marry Stacy? Maybe. If she wants to. If… assuming we last."

"You will," Wilson assured. "You two are perfect for each other."

"In so many more ways than one."

"I can feel us moving into sexual territory, here."

Greg grinned suggestively and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "We're men. That's what we do; talk about women, their anatomy, and sex."

"I detest that stereotype!"

"Is it still a stereotype if it's true?"

"I… huh?"

"God, James, you're so easy sometimes! It almost gets boring. But back to sex. Which, by the way, is never boring with Stacy. It's… she's… awesome, and…" He trailed off and found his friend grinning at him. "What?"

"You're gushing."

House reddened slightly. "I'm not! We're discussing."

"No, you were gushing. About Stacy. You are so whipped!"

House glared. "What are you now, some fifteen-year-old rapper? We're talking about sex. You do remember what it is, right?"

Wilson stopped smiling and scowled, getting up and beginning to make his way back to the car. House strode beside him.

"Just because Susan doesn't like sex, it doesn't mean we're not having any."

"Just… not very often."

"Look, it doesn't matter."

House gave him a sceptical look, but James ignored him and ran ahead.

"No wonder you're so grumpy!" House called after him. "You're always grumpy during a dry spell!"

Wilson stopped and turned, ignoring the curious stares of the few passers-by.

"All work and no sex makes James a very grumpy boy," House continued, stepping closer.

He rolled his eyes. "I am not grumpy."

"Yeah, well, your Mr Grumpy face says otherwise."

"I'm not grumpy!"

"Just horny?"

"No offence, Greg, but seeing you all sweaty isn't exactly what turns me on."

"No, but that blonde before did. I saw you, your eyes were following her like a stink on cheese."

James raised his eyebrows.

"It's an expression. Whatever. Look, the point is, you were watching her."

"So were you!"

"I'm a man! It's what men do. We stare at… nice things."

"Then why can't I? I'm a man."

"You're a married man. You're not supposed to look at nice things unless they belong to your wife. You know, love and devotion forever?"

James sighed. "I detest that stereotype."

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That's it for the first chapter! YAY! More coming soon, very soon. Please review... it'll make me extra-happy, and everyone needs a little happiness (can anyone tell I'm tired?)! Anywho, thanks a lot for reading! Signed,seriously-homie7.


	2. I: The Beginning

A/N: Chapter Two, finally! Please review… I'll love you forever! Enjoy! (PS- Please take note of the key... we're back in time now!)

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**KEY**:

**BI – **Before Infarction

**I – **The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

**AI – **After Infarction

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**I: The Beginning**

"Hey. You ready?" James Wilson pushed the door of House's office open and sauntered in. Gregory House, Head of Nephrology, was sitting at his desk and staring at the floor, absently tapping his fingers to a tune playing on his radio.

"House?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and looked expectantly at him.

The older man finally looked up and blinked. "Huh?"

"We're going out, remember? A run, then a series of seedy bars?"

"Oh yeah… yeah…" He stood slowly and cringed, putting a hand on his right thigh. James watched him closely, brow knitted in concern, as he grunted and carefully sat back down.

"House? What's wrong with your leg?"

"Nothing. It's just a little sore."

"Okay. We'll skip the run, head straight to the bars. Who needs exercise, anyway?… Hey, you probably just pulled a muscle," James suggested, keeping his tone casual.

"Probably." House blinked, distracted, and picked up the stress ball on his desk, squeezing it fiercely.

"You should maybe see a doctor," he advised.

"I _am_ a doctor. I know what I'm doing."

Wilson was happy to recognise some his friend's usual sarcasm in the comment. "Yes, and you can really be objective about your own leg."

"For God's sake, I'm not a baby."

"Really? Well, I'll remember you said that the next time you throw one of your tantrums about nothing in particular."

House sneered. "Ooh, you gonna write my name on your naughty list?"

"That's right. Only a lump of coal for you this Christmas."

"Great! I'll warm it up and put it on Cuddy's chair when she's not looking. I've always said she had a hot ass."

James snickered, further cheered by the fact that House was still as rude as usual. He was a little concerned about how easily House had agreed with him about his pulled muscle diagnosis, though. He knew now that it was _not_ a pulled muscle – House had jogged with him even when he had sprained his ankle (albeit very slowly and painfully, but still). If he was in that much pain that he had to cancel their run, then it was serious. And that disturbed him.

James cleared his throat. "Seriously, though, if it gets worse…"

"I know, I know, be responsible. Responsibility is overrated."

"Yes, but the ability to walk isn't." He paused. "Just… take care of yourself. We'll go out another time."

An infinitesimal look of relief quickly crossed House's face before it wad replaced with a sneer again. "Fine. Go home to your soon-to-be-ex wife, then."

He ignored the barb. "And you go home to your girlfriend. Try not to exert yourself too much."

House smirked. "For the exercise we do, I don't need full use of my legs."

"So true…" Wilson nodded goodbye and returned to the Oncology Department, sitting at his desk and frowning. He was now officially worried about House. The fact that he had cancelled had rung warning bells (particularly since House had won every competition since their first run, and he never missed an opportunity to gloat), but that look of relief was what made him especially concerned. It was a proper indication of how bad his leg really was. The pain was obviously so strong that he wanted to avoid as much (upright) activity as possible.

Sighing, Wilson shook his head and packed up his belongings, hanging up his lab coat and flicking off the light switch before heading to the elevators.

He shouldn't be worrying. House was an adult, and, as he had also pointed out, a doctor. However, on the other hand, he was also stubborn, immature and hated accepting help from anyone, and so the probability of him going to see another doctor was very slim. Perhaps Wilson himself should have offered to look at it… but that would got him nowhere, except into another slinging match. And he wasn't in the mood.

He stepped into the elevator car when it arrived, thoughtfully holding the door open for a nurse, smiling absently at her. He rode it down to the car park.

Maybe it was only a pulled muscle. How did he know what was going on with House's body? He didn't. It wasn't his job. House should be able to look after himself. And, failing that, Stacy would notice and send him to see someone. If anyone could get through to him, it was Stacy.

Reaching his car, he unlocked and opened the door of his Mercedes and got in, tossing his stuff onto the passenger's seat. He started the car and attempted to shove House out his mind and concentrate on going home. Yeah, home, where things were so much better. Not. He sighed again. He had been neglecting his wife, lately. Early to and late from work, spending his free time with House, instead of her… He had a responsibility to her to be there for her… and he wasn't.

"Whatever," he muttered, backing out of his spot. "Responsibility is overrated."


	3. FIVE MONTHS AI

Thank God, it's Chapter Three! YAY! 

**A/N: **Please take note of the key again: this scene occurs not long after House's infarction.

---------------

**KEY:**

**BI –** Before Infarction

**I –** The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

**AI –** After Infarction

**---------------**

**FIVE MONTHS AI**

"Rough day?"

James Wilson froze in the act of picking up his sports bag and looked behind him. Gregory House was sitting, in his wheelchair, in the shadows of the dimly-lit locker room.

"Um… ah…" Wilson swallowed and cleared his throat. "Wha… what are you doing here already?"

"Ah, physio finished early. I'm waiting for you to take me home. You went for a run. You only ever go for a run when you've had a bad day."

Wilson's shoulders tensed and he casually let go of the bag. He looked guiltily at House. "Um… I was just… I was supposed to be back before you finished."

"Oh, for God's sake, Wilson, stop looking guilty! Just because I can't run anymore, it doesn't mean I expect you not to!"

"House—"

"Let me guess; you're trying not to hurt me because you figure I'm just acting brave. I'm hurting inside, and it'll only take something relatively insignificant to push me over the edge. Like you going for a run."

"House, I just don't want—"

"To what? Offend me? Upset me?" the diagnostician mocked. He wheeled his chair closer, into the light. "C'mon, Wilson, you're being idiotic, both you and I know it! _Stop_ tip-toeing around me, trying not to hurt me. I'll never be able to walk properly again! And, believe it or not, no walking means no running! I can understand that even without the medical degree."

"Greg—"

"Do you really believe I'm that emotionally unstable that I'm going to wheel myself into the oncoming traffic just because I catch you going for a run?"

Wilson grew quiet and looked at the floor. "I… don't know."

House cocked his head. "Really? Because I always thought that wheeling myself off the roof of the hospital was much more my style. You know, out with a bang… except it would be more of a splat…"

"House!" Wilson exclaimed, horrified.

"Relax," House said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not going to kill myself."

"Right…"

"I… thought about it. I wanted to. But…" His serious tone disappeared and he became sarcastic again. "Then I figured, why give all the people that dislike me the satisfaction? I'm much more annoying when I'm alive."

"Twisted logic, but… okay…" He sat down on the bench and regarded House, carefully keeping his expression neutral. He didn't want to push it by getting too emotional or meaningful. The fact that House was even acknowledging his existence meant that it was one of his good days. Usually, he shut everyone out, kept them at a distance, insulted them so that they were all too happy to stay away. He head to be careful in his interaction with House, to avoid certain topics unless how brought them up, and always remain completely impartial and emotionless. "So how is your physio going?"

"Great! I'll be healed and up and walking in no time!" He sighed and dropped his eyes. "It's painful. There's about zero chance I won't have to walk without an aid. Just call me The Incredible Cane Boy."

"_About_ zero?"

"I was leaving a margin for a miracle. You know how much I believe in miracles."

"About as much as you believe in people."

"Everybody lies. That's part of who we are."

"I know… I know…" He let House stew for a few moments before rubbing his neck and broaching a new topic. "So… Cuddy called me into her office earlier."

"Right. Cuddy. The grand hospital-administrator extraordinaire," House said bitterly. "What'd she want? Have you been naughty?"

"No. She… offered me something."

"Ooh, less clinic duty? A weekend away in the Bahamas? Sex with no strings? Sex with no strings whilst on a weekend away in the Bahamas with no clinic duty?"

"She told me that if I want Head of Oncology… it's mine."

House leant back in the chair. "If you want it?"

"Well, it's more hours. More responsibilities."

"So? It's also more money. You've been divorced twice. You live alone. Your life is the hospital. You're a perfect candidate for the job."

"Thank you so much for reminding me how miserable my life is."

"Just call me a personal motivator… How much she offering you for this new job?"

"About twenty percent more than I'm getting now."

House nodded, narrowing his eyes. "Right."

"I haven't made up my mind yet."

"Why?"

"I just—"

"Save it! If you seriously don't want it, don't take it. But if this stems from some sort of misguided loyalty towards me and you don't take it, then I'll ignore you for the _rest_ of your miserable little life."

"Well, it would make life a lot easier…" Wilson smiled and House nodded and began to search in his pockets for something.

"What are you looking for?"

He heard rattling, and House presented him with a bottle of meds.

"Vicodin," Wilson read, watching as House popped two. "They've got you on Vicodin?"

"No, I just take them for fun." He swallowed and grimaced. "Cause they're oh-so-yummy… You're taking too long to get ready. You're like a woman! I'm not waiting. I'll meet you at the car." Replacing the bottle, he swivelled the chair around and rolled towards the door. He paused. "Congratulations."

Wilson grinned and stood up. "You know, I thought there was about zero chance you were going to say that."

"About zero?" House looked back and smirked.

"Yeah, I was leaving a margin for a miracle."

---------------

Gregory House stared at the cane in front of him distrustfully before reaching out to pick it up. The shaft was smooth brown wood, with a black stopper on the end and a plastic black handle. It didn't weigh very much. He wondered how it would hold his weight properly. The physiotherapist seemed to think it would, but who could trust him?

House grimaced. How many physiotherapists had he gone through now? He was possibly up to the third one, and he liked this one even less than the other two. He was tough, harder to break. He'd been to prison or something.

He set the cane on the floor beside him, tapping it a few times and flexing his fingers over the handle, getting used to how it felt.

This cane represented everything he hated in his life: Stacy's betrayal, his lameness, his sudden need to rely on others… It would have been ever-so-satisfying to smash it into little pieces… But he wanted a reminder. He needed a reminder, so that he remembered never to allow himself to be hurt, ever again.

Turning his attention back to the present, he pulled the brakes on his chair and planted his left foot on the floor. The physiotherapist had said he wasn't ready for this, but House knew that he was. He had to be. He could feel everything slipping away from him; Stacy was up a pack of cigarettes a day. She would leave him soon, he knew it. And damned if he was going to let her leave him. He'd have preferred his leg amputated. If anyone was doing any breaking up, it would be him, and he needed to be less reliant on her to do so.

And Cuddy. She was only going to hold his job for so long, and then she'd have to hire a replacement. If she hadn't already. It helped that she felt guilty about his leg, but he couldn't rely on her for anything. That fact had been made abundantly clear.

And even Wilson was moving on. His promotion meant more hours, which meant he had less time for House. Unless House was at the hospital, working, with him.

That was why he needed to walk. Wilson's earlier run had only reinforced his determination to be upwardly mobile again. He needed to be up and walking right now, before Wilson came back from the store, before Stacy came back from her week away with her parents. He needed to walk.

He rested the cane against the couch and steeled himself for the pain he knew was coming by doping up on Vicodin. Then, gritting his teeth in determination, he placed one hand on each side of his right thigh, trying not to press too hard. He took a deep breath and slowly lifted it up, grunting in pain.

When his foot finally hit the floor, he was panting and sweating, and the extra exertion on his leg caused him to need a rest.

"Dammit!" he slapped his arm rest and swore, trying not to be too disgusted by his own weakness.

When he finally looked down at his feet, he wriggled his toes and smiled grimly. Phase One was complete. Onto Phase Two: standing up.

Bracing himself by grabbing the sides of his chair, he slowly edged himself forward, ignoring his protesting thigh, until he was perched on the edge of the seat. Now came the hard part.

Wilson had suggested he install a rail somewhere in his house, but all that suggestion had earned was a violent glare. Installing a rail would mean admitting he was handicapped. And he wasn't ready to accept that. But then again, it was a time like this that he that he could admit that having a rail wouldn't be so bad. At least it would help him stand up. Instead, he had to rely on the stupid wheelchair. The only good thing he had to say about the contraption was that it had helped to build his upper body strength – a quality that would definitely come in handy for this exercise.

Placing one hand on the end of each armrest, he slowly propelled himself upwards, putting his weight on his hands and left foot, and steadying himself against the couch. He winced as pain lanced up through the remaining damaged muscle when he knocked it, but he had done it… he was standing up. Holding back a triumphant grin, he grabbed his cane and placed it on the ground next to his injured leg, transferring some of his weight onto it. Shuffling around, he took a tentative step with his left leg. Now, it was the moment of truth. He moved his cane forward, and slowly inched his right foot forward too, putting the minutest pressure on it…

Okay… yes, the ever-present throbbing was still there, but… it wasn't too bad… He took another experimental step, putting more weight on the thigh, and yelped as it gave out under him and he toppled to the floor. All he could think of was the pain; it took over, overriding every other sensation. Waves of dizziness and nausea were thumping him down, attempting to beat him into oblivion. But he wouldn't let them, because in his head, Stacy was dumping him, Cuddy was hiring someone new and Wilson was too busy for him. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, clenching his teeth harder. He stuck it out, closing his eyes and breathing heavily, just hoping the worst of it would subside soon.

When there was a knock on his front door a couple of minutes later, he ignored it until a recognisable voice called out, "House? It's Wilson! Come on, open up, I'm back!"

"Yeah… it's open…" House managed, gasping.

He heard the doorknob turn, and James Wilson enter.

"Hey, I bought you some stuff— crap!" Footsteps hurried over to him and he felt warm hands turning him gently onto his back. "Greg! Greg, are you okay?"

"Yeah… I just got… tired… needed a… rest. Floor seemed as… good a prospect as… as any…"

Wilson looked pained as he surveyed him. "Okay, um… how do you wanna do this?"

House was grateful that Wilson gave him a choice. "Just… help me… onto the couch."

Wilson hooked his arms under House's armpits and pulled him up, grunting with the strain. House bit his tongue to stop from crying out as his leg was jarred, and kept silent until Wilson managed to manoeuvre him onto the couch, collapsing next to him and panting with exertion.

"Thanks," House gasped, managing to fish the Vicodin back out of his pocket with a shaky hand and swallow a couple more.

Wilson just nodded, knowing House wouldn't want to make a big deal out of it, and reached forward to turn on the TV, settling on a daytime soap he knew House was getting into. "So," he murmured, "you hungry?"

He wasn't; he felt so nauseous and drained from his ordeal that he didn't think he could even look at food. But he nodded anyway, knowing that Wilson needed something to do to feel useful.

"Okay. I'll whip something up. Any preferences?"

House shrugged, refusing to look at his friend, refusing to let him see the emotion in his eyes. Emotions were useless, especially the ones he was feeling now. Pain, anger, disappointment, disgust, gratitude, shame… Wilson knew them all already. And if he was willing to go on like the incident had never happened, then so was House. Perhaps even more so.

Wilson stood and strolled into House's kitchen. "So, as I was saying before, I bought you some stuff…"

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Thanks for reading! The second part was a little angsty, but... what can you do? I figured it was in character for himduringthat particular time in his life.

And remember... you are getting sleepy... (but not sleepy enough so that you can't type)... you MUST review...


	4. I: The Middle

**A/N:** Chapter 4, now that I've finally had the opportunity to post it. And please, remember the **key**!

---------------

**KEY:**

**BI **– Before Infarction

**I **– The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

**AI **– After Infarction

---------------

**I: The Middle**

"It's been three days, and you still can't figure out what's wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you people? Did you get your medical degrees out of a cornflakes packet?"

The second floor was filled with the sound of a loud, gravely shout echoing off the walls, causing other patients to flinch. It had been this way since Gregory House, M.D., had been admitted with an aching thigh. And when the stream of abuse stopped, it was replaced with cries of pain; the sounds of a dying animal. Needless to say, most of the patients in House's wing had been moved to other wings in an attempt to give them peace, but some unfortunate patients had to remain where they were, and put up with the deluge of yells.

House didn't care; he was in pain. So much pain. It was like… Damn it! He was the king of metaphors, and he couldn't even think of anything to describe the pain he was in. And these people, these morons disguised as doctors, had no idea what was wrong with him. First they thought he was faking it, then they told him it was just a muscle strain. And hee had been willing to think that, when Wilson suggested it when it had first started hurting. But when it had started getting worse, instead of better, he had come back the next day and been admitted. That was three days ago. Three days! They kept giving him bed rest and antibiotics, but that wasn't working, and they still had no idea why. They just kept coming back, to run more tests. Tests. He was sick of them! God, what he wouldn't give to be going for a run right now! He just felt like he wanted to—

"Doctor House?"

A mousy voice interrupted his thoughts and he gritted his teeth, turning his sharp gaze on his newest victim. "What?" he demanded.

A spectacled, pathetic-looking, so-called physician scurried in, holding a small lidded cup.

"We, uh…" his eyes darted to the door, and he looked like he couldn't wait to escape.

"What? You need a sample of the skin on my toes, check for tinea? Why not, that could easily be what's affecting my thigh, as far as you idiots are concerned!"

"We, uh, we just—"

"What? You what? C'mon, I haven't got all day… oh, actually, I do, because you haven't figured out what's wrong with me, yet! You're useless! Just spit it out!"

"He would, if you would shut up for a minute."

House looked at the doorway and snarled as James Wilson walked in. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Wilson took the container from the mousy doctor and smiled at him. "It's okay. I'll take over from here. You're free to go."

The doctor looked at him as if he had just saved his life, and fled the room as fast as possible.

Wilson shook his head. "Would it hurt you to give them a break?"

"I'd rather not be in any more pain than I am already, thanks," he snapped. "What are you, anyway? Saviour to all the incompetent doctors in the world?"

"Just call me Boy Wonder," James said dryly, moving over to the bed. He glanced over his friend, trying to keep the worry out of his expression. "How you doing?"

"How do you think? I may as well be at home! These morons couldn't diagnose an amputated leg if one hit them in the face!"

James raised an eyebrow. "Nice visual."

"Yeah, well, I try."

"About the only thing you do actually try to do."

House glared at him. "Are you here for a reason except to annoy me?"

"Stacy called. She said she'd be here later, she has to see a client. She sends her love, though."

"Fine," House said, stiffening. "Great."

"God, you're stubborn!"

"Go get a hair cut," he shot back, crossing his arms.

"Ouch, that hurts…" He bent to check House's urine-bag and frowned. "Uh, House…"

"What? Forgotten how to take a urine sample, Wonder Oncologist?"

Wilson shook his head and held up the bag wordlessly.

"It's brown…" House said slowly, frowning.

"Tea coloured, to be exact…"

"With milk or cream?" House asked, sarcastic to the end.

"What does it mean? What does tea-coloured pee mean?" James wondered, ignoring him.

"Nothing good." House leant his head back and sighed. "New symptom. Leg pain and tea-coloured urine…"

"Trauma?"

"Yeah, right, from the needle… sure! Or, maybe it's an infection! C'mon, how long have you been a doctor? I don't want an amateur guess, think!"

"I… I… have no idea, House. I don't—"

"I do." House smiled grimly. "I need an MRI."

"They already x-rayed you, why would you—"

"It's nothing to do with bone. It's muscle. Muscle cell death… I have a clot."

Wilson's mouth dropped open at his casual tone. "I… but… are you sure?"

"C'mon, Wilson, you know it fits! Muscle cell death leaks myoglobin, toxic to the kidneys, causing them to shut down, resulting in tea-coloured pee. It fits, it's perfect."

"How can… are you actually happy about this?"

"Of course I'm not! Not that it's this serious, anyway."

"But you are happy about something."

"If I'm right, it means I was the only person to figure it out."

Wilson shook his head in disbelief. "Sometimes, the depth of your ego still astounds me."

"Then you don't know me very well, do you?" House held Wilson's gaze, until the younger man gave up and finally looked away.

"I'll get Cuddy. Tell her you need an MRI," he said quietly, slowly leaving the room.

"Where is she anyway?" he yelled after him, frustrated and angry. This shouldn't have been happening to him. He wasn't a bad person, he wasn't to blame for anything. It wasn't his fault! He hadn't done anything wrong, DAMN IT! NOTHING!

"She should be here, should have figured it out! She's the Dean of Medicine, and she's useless! Did she get her medical degree out of a cornflakes packet?"

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Thanks for reading! Oh, and can I order a review with that? Please?


	5. THREE YEARS BI

**A/N:** Remember the key, my faithful readers (I know, you want to hit me cos I keep reminding you of it... but it's all to limit confusion! Confusion is bad!). And please... review? Pretty please? Pretty please with House and Wilson on top? 

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**KEY:**

**BI –** Before Infarction

**I – **The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

**AI –** After Infarction

**---------------**

**THREE YEARS BI**

The fourth floor was the Nephrology Department… wasn't it? Isn't that what that Doctor Cuddy had told him? Gregory House attempted to step back out of elevator and check the directory, but the doors shut on him. Okay, whatever. He jabbed the number four and stood back to wait.

The elevator stopped on the second floor, and a man dressed in a suit and tie, slightly more formal than House's own shirt and corduroys, stepped on. He had close-set brown eyes and floppy brown hair which, in House's opinion, needed a severe cut. His face was pleasant enough, and he carried a briefcase.

A doctor, House decided. And from the tiny lines evident on his face, and the general air of humility about him, his specialty was something emotionally tolling, but not prac-based. Not surgery; oncology, or paediatrics or something. All those little kiddies dying could seriously damage the psyche.

The man noticed him staring, so House hitched his backpack up on his shoulder and directed his gaze to the floor. He tried sending out serious 'leave me alone' vibes, but the man didn't seem to understand them, and instead turned to him, starting a conversation.

"Are you a patient?" he asked, a curious look on his face.

"Do I look like one?" House asked lightly. No need to make enemies on your first day. Well, not unless he was bored, anyway.

"No. That's why I asked."

House frowned slightly. Hmm. An intelligent answer in return. Maybe this man was worth talking to… or maybe not. "No, I'm not," he replied.

The other guy waited for House to elaborate on his comment. When he didn't, he stuck out his hand for House to shake.

"James Wilson. Oncology Department."

House regarded the hand for a few seconds before taking it. Even if James Wilson hadn't said it, House could now definitely tell that he was _not_ a surgeon. A surgeon's grasp was often too firm, and they would squeeze the hell out of your hand. Pompous arrogant bastards. Wilson's grip was firm, but yielding, allowing House to pull away when he wished. He did so, and finally introduced himself.

"Gregory House."

James nodded. "I haven't seen you around before. First day?"

"Yep. I'm starting in Nephrology." He stopped, surprised. Was this him… indulging in small talk? He shook his head and resolved to watch out for Doctor James Wilson, from Oncology. His open, friendly nature could be toxic.

He glanced back up at the panel of lit numbers, attempting to end the dialogue, and saw that they were still on the second floor. But, he could have sworn they had moved… Then he realised that the elevator had already gone up to fourth floor, and was on its way down again. He frowned. Usually he prided himself on his superb observational skills; that was how he had guessed Wilson's job. Yet he got involved in a conversation with the man, and it all went out the window. He knew it: toxic.

"So, are you heading directly to Nephrology?" James asked, cocking his head.

"Attempting to."

Wilson leant forward and pressed the number four again. "That would be the fourth floor, same as me. I'll take you up."

"Great."

James paused, obviously debating his next move, and spoke up quickly. "Look, I'm not trying to pressure you, but maybe we can do lunch later. My shout."

House contemplated his decision before finally accepting. "Sure." He wasn't one to turn down a free meal.

"Okay. Cafeteria at one? It's on the main floor."

House nodded and the elevator finally stopped at his floor again.

"I'll show you where you have to be," James said, stepping out of the car and leading the way down the garishly bright corridor.

House thought that he could very probably find the way himself, but kept his mouth shut. Wilson seemed eager to help. Besides, if he upset the man, he could consider his free lunch disappeared.

They stopped in front of adjoining glass rooms emblazoned with the words 'Nephrology Department', and James turned to him.

"Here we are. I guess I'll see you later."

House was puzzled. Here was a man, another human being, who actually _wanted_ to talk to him. It was weird. He knew, however, that Wilson was only being nice because it was his first day. Once he got to know House, he would leave him alone. Thank god. He couldn't help it—he just wasn't a people person, didn't like them around. That, Wilson would learn very soon. Perhaps just after he paid for House's meal…

Knowing this, House nodded. "Okay. Cafeteria at one."

---------------

When only one patient died, James Wilson considered it a lucky day. When two died, it was upsetting, but he could block it out. Three or more was pushing it. And since this time yesterday, four of the cancer wing's patients had died. Granted, this wasn't an everyday occurrence. But when it did happen, he had a hard time dealing.

Maybe oncology had been the wrong choice, the wrong specialty for him. It was too tolling, too emotional for someone who cared. And he did care. A lot. Some would say too much.

Because of this, his caring, he needed to do something that would clear his mind, something to help him cope. Running was that thing. When he ran his mind emptied, and he concentrated only on his breathing and his immediate surroundings. He had no thoughts of the hospital or the suffering patients that waited for him. Running was his hospital-free time, and he relished it.

But, because he was a doctor, PPTH took up most of his time, leaving very little for extra-curricular activities. He started work early, and often, by the end of the day, he was too tired to go running. Consequently, he had to have a change of clothes and shoes on standby, so, if the time presented itself, he could just go and do it.

Today his lunch break was from twelve-thirty until one-thirty. He was meeting that new doctor, Gregory House, for lunch at one. That left him half an hour to run. Thank God.

As soon as he was on break, he grabbed his stuff and made for the locker room, hurriedly changing into his running gear, itching to hit the pavement.

He exited the main entrance of Princeton-Plainsboro and began a few stretches. He was gonna go hard today, to push his limits in an effort to forget, and there was no need to risk straining anything.

Starting easy, he jogged to warm up, before gradually speeding up to a run. It was only halfway around his circuit that he became aware of a pounding of extra feet behind him. He glanced back, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Gregory House gave him a smug grin and pulled up next to him.

"Hi," Doctor House said, barely even puffing. "Nice pace." With that, he surged ahead.

So. He wanted to play it that way, did he? Fine. He could live with that. Wilson easily quickened his pace, lengthening his strides to meet Doctor House's.

"Hey," he answered. "Even nicer pace."

House frowned and pushed himself harder, again running ahead.

Wilson gritted his teeth. He hadn't expected an all-out competition, but that didn't mean he wasn't ready for it. He again matched House and the two ran side-by-side for a while.

Wilson's lungs were now starting to burn, and his thighs were clenching. His sensible side was telling him to slow down, or he might hurt something, but his competitive side took no notice. That side told him to beat the crap out of this newbie.

They turned a corner and the hospital cam into view. James put on a last burst of speed and forged forward, passing the hospital's entry doors and slowing to a stop. He doubled over, heaving in breaths, as Gregory caught up and stood, hands on hips, also struggling to pull in air.

When they were able to, both men stood straight and regarded each other. Doctor House held out a hand.

"Good race," he puffed, voice edged with new respect.

Wilson shook it. "Yeah. You run often?"

"Yeah, every now and then. Never been beaten before," he added grudgingly.

"Think of it as a humbling experience," James joked, running his hand through his hair.

House half-smiled, inspecting James closely with ice-blue eyes before speaking. "So… you were going to buy the new guy some lunch?"

"Keener to talk to me now I've proven my worth?"

"What?"

Wilson led the way back into the hospital. "I'm not body-language-reading deficient. I know you didn't want to talk to me earlier."

"Then why'd you bug me?" Instead of sounding annoyed, however, House seemed… amused.

They passed the nurses' station and Wilson nodded to the nurse on duty. "Because. You're new, and surly. I wanted to be nice, and see if I could actually get you to agree to lunch. I should have known the free food would have been the winner."

"Huh…" House nodded slowly and raised his eyebrows. "Good race, though."

"Yeah," James agreed. "Nice pace."

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Hope you liked! Might not be able to get a new one up for a while, it's the holidays and I may be somewhere without an internet connection. So, if anyone happened to hanging out for another chapter (I think I've said this before, but I **wish**), I'm sorry!


	6. I: The End

**A/N:** Okay, I promise I won't remind you of the key this time (and while promising not to, actually sneakily bringing it up so that people remember), because even I'm finding it annoying... Just read, enjoy, and review (please)...

**---------------**

**KEY:**

**BI –** Before Infarction

**I –** The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

**AI –** After Infarction

**---------------**

**I: The End**

Gregory House groaned and blinked his eyes open, slowly and painfully focusing on the face of his best friend.

"Hey," James Wilson said softly, leaning over the hospital bed. "How you doing?"

House ignored him and hissed slowly as what Stacy had done to him came flooding back, the excruciating pain a severe reminder. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed heavily through his through his nose, digging his fingernails into his palms.

"Where is she?" he whispered.

"She's… she thought she should leave you alone for—"

"Where… is she?"

James sighed. "She went home. Thought… she felt, and rightly so I'm guessing, that you wouldn't want to see her. She thought you'd probably prefer some time alone, to process things."

"I don't want to process things! I shouldn't have to process anything! It's her fault I'm here, it's her fault I might not be able to…" He cleared his throat and remained silent for a few moments.

Wilson dragged a chair forward and sat down as close to House as possible. He put a hand on his arm.

House didn't pull away, just asked, "How bad is it?"

"They…"

"Just say it, Wilson! Just… just say it."

"Fine. They… don't know. They had to remove a lot of muscle. The utility of your leg will be severely compromised," he revealed, rubbing his neck.

"Right…" House stared at the ceiling unblinkingly.

"On the other hand," James rushed on, "You might just get full use of your leg back. I mean, no-one knows, you could be going out for another run with me in—"

"Don't," House demanded. "Don't treat me like some ignorant patient. You and I both know that'll never happen, so just stop with the bull crap!"

"Okay. I'm sorry. I have to remember to switch from Doctor to Friend."

"I'm going to be in pain for the rest of my life," House said, his voice oddly detached from the situation. "It's bearable now, because I'm drugged up, but they'll start weaning me off the cocktail, and I'll be in even more pain. I'll always be in pain, always be reminded of…"

"Of Stacy."

"What she did… How could she do this to me? I trusted her, and she lied! How could she?" He looked to Wilson for some sort of answer, but all he could do was shake his head in despair.

This was not how House was supposed to act. House was strong, independent, devoid of emotion; not weak, in pain and on the verge of tears. In one single moment of anger, Wilson wanted to kill Stacy for what she had done to this man. But then he remembered that it wasn't her fault. She had done what she thought was best, and had possibly even saved her lover's life.

He looked back at House and found him watching him closely.

"I'll never forgive her for this," House said, venom evident in his voice. "Never. Tell her that. Tell her I hate her, and I'll never forgive her."

"House, it's just the anger talking, you'll get over it and—"

"No!" House slammed his fist on the bed beside him, pinning James in his place with his relentless glare, trying to communicate his seriousness and desperation. "Tell her. I'll never forgive her."

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Well, I hope I tackled it okay, and it's not too dramatic... sigh. I'm starting to feel all weepy, cos this is the second-last chapter! Only one more to go, before it's all over, and I have to start posting another fic... begins to panic, searching through all her stuff, desperately trying to find another fic that's worth posting... Anywho, please review, it makes me feel special, and enjoy! Sayonara!


	7. SIX YEARS AI

**A/N- **Oh my God! It's the **LAST** chapter! It's so shocking, and so sad that I had to finish this... I've had this chapter written for a while now, but everytime I've gone to upload it, something's gone wrong. So, to cut a long, very monotonousstory into five words, sorry it took so long! I hope I still have some readers left after making everyone wait so long... but anyway. Sorry again!

I also want to take this opportunity to thank all my reviewers, for all of my stories, really. I keep meaning to send Review Replies and to thank people, but for some reason I never remember to. But I'd just really like to make my appreciation known now to those who took the time to stop and review, particularly IceStar4621 and HouseFreak, who reviewed pretty much every chapter of this story. Thanks a lot for all your kind and wonderfulwords!

Oh, and also, a note about this particular chapter: I wrote this before I first saw Wilson telling House about his divorce (which aired only a few weeks ago in Australia). I was gonna change it, but then I thought I'd just leave it cos I like it and the way it works out(did I mention my modesty?). This last chapter ties everything back into the first chapter. A nice, lovely circular ending!

Thanks again, and enjoy! Oh, and please review... I'll love you forever, and even attempt to reply to you!

**---------------**

**KEY:**

**BI –** Before Infarction

**I –** The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

**AI –** After Infarction

**---------------**

**SIX YEARS AI**

Gregory House groaned as he carefully rolled over, trying to block out the insistent knocking on his door.

"I'm not home!" he yelled. "Go terrorize someone else, I don't care!"

He got no answer, and the knocking persisted. Growling, he levered himself out of bed and grabbed his cane, performing a mixture of staggering and limping to reach the door. Who the hell would come over at six a.m. on a—

He yanked open the door, and there stood James Wilson, decked out in a suit.

"Whatta you want?" House demanded, blinking in the early sunlight.

"Wanna come for a run?" James asked, grinning.

House blinked and slowly looked down at his cane, before focusing back on Wilson's face. "You've finally flipped. Or didn't you notice this wooden thing I've been carrying around for the past five years? And not because I need the extra wood."

"I was joking. I'm giving you a lift to work.

"It's six a.m.! I'm supposed to be asleep."

"I'm also," Wilson presented a plastic container, "feeding you."

House snapped to attention. "Are those…?"

"Macadamia nut pancakes, yes. But only if you come with. That's the deal."

House pondered for all of a second. "I'll be right out. Even though I'm supposed to be asleep."

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"Mmph… Wiwson, veef are the beft pancakfs in the world!" House said through a full mouth.

Wilson smiled. "You say that every time you have them. And every time, they taste exactly the same." He reclined easily on the familiar park bench, staring at the sky while House shovelled the food into his mouth. "It's such a nice day. It's a shame we have to spend it at the hospital," he commented.

"Well, let's not go. We'll be rebels and cut class!"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we can go to the mall and go really wild, get tattoos and nipple piercings."

"I'm serious!" House wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Let's go somewhere, be boys, steal stuff, bunk off…"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I can't. I'm in this profession called medicine, and I have dying patients to tend to."

He waved his hand dismissively. "There are other oncologists."

"I have three appointments, two checkups and two hours of clinic duty today. That I know of. Plus a whole bunch of paperwork. I can't just leave!"

Greg's mouth became a straight line and he stood up, tossing the empty plastic container on his friend's lap. "Fine. Since you're so eager to go to work, let's just go." He hobbled a few steps before Wilson sighed.

"Wait, Greg…"

House paused. Calling him by his first name. Interesting. He slowly rotated and gave him a pointed look.

"Look," Wilson said, running his hands through his hair, "this… coming here. It wasn't just for you. I need… it was for me, too."

"And here I was thinking that you cared."

"I do, I just…" he rubbed his neck. "Look, don't worry about it. It's fine."

House rolled his eyes and sat back down. "Okay. In exactly four minutes I'm getting up and leaving. Until then it's free time." He leant his chin on the handle of his cane and gazed at James expectantly.

He sighed again and stared at the ground. "You know how things on the home-front haven't been too crash hot?"

House squeezed his eyes shut. "I can feel us moving into some very unmanly territory, here."

"Look, if you don't want to hear about it, just say it, and I'll—"

"Shut up and keep talking." He cocked his head. "A contradiction. But you know what I mean."

"I do," Wilson said softly. "And that's Julie's problem with me."

"Oh." House studied him. "You two are getting a divorce."

He held his head in his hands. "I am so screwed up. Three marriages, all failed. How stupid can I be? I must be the most screwed up guy on the planet."

"No, that would be me."

Wilson snorted and sat back, refusing to look at him. "I think I'm fair competition."

They sat in silence for a few moments and a pretty blonde clad in not much at all jogged past. Both gazes remained on the clouds.

"Do you… I mean, are you…" House awkwardly attempted to express some sort of sympathetic emotion, but failed miserably. Instead, he said the only thing he could think of. "I've got a couch."

Wilson looked at him gratefully. "Thanks."

"When… how soon will you be needing it?"

Wilson stood and picked up the container, waiting for House to join him. They began strolling back to the car.

"Stat," Wilson joked lamely.

House nodded. "Fine… Hmm… a bachelor's pad…" he said, seriousness rapidly becoming playfulness.

Wilson groaned. "Oh no…"

"Do you think he'll charge us less if we order bulk?" he asked thoughtfully.

"What? Who?"

"What do you mean, 'who'? The pimp I use! Who else is there?"

"House, I do not want a hooker anywhere near me."

House pouted. "Spoilsport. You always ruin my fun… you couldn't keep up, anyway."

Wilson raised an eyebrow and critically eyed his friend. "I think I'm fair competition."

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And that's it! The end! I hope everyone enjoyed this, because I sure enjoyed writing it. I'm so sad it's over! (sob)... My next project I'm working on is using the House Fic50 prompts, and I've already done about 30, so... only 20 more to go (Hey, I can count...). Yay! Until then, I don't know how much I'll be posting... whatever. I may end up slipping something in sometime soon! I need the (hopefully good) reviews to keep my ego healthy.

Again, a HUGE thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! Love to all!


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